Episode 18 —Mommy dearest

Mathers’ breath caught. His lips moved like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

The Suit froze. Its arm trembled in the air, but it didn’t swing.

Sasha stepped forward until she was inches from its towering frame. “Mrs. Scherbatsky,” she whispered. “Shoot it.”

Robin instantly understood. Her fingers clenched the shotgun tighter.

BOOM!

The blast tore through the Suit’s face. Synthetic flesh burst outward in a spray, fragments of crimson plating scattering across the floor like shrapnel.

The Suit staggered backward, head half-caved in, black fluid hissing from the gaping wound.

“Holy hell, it worked!” Robin pumped the shotgun again, the spent shell clattering at her feet. “One more should do it!”

She fired again.

The second shotgun blast exploded through what was left of the Suit’s face, tearing it away completely. But the body didn’t fall.

It moved blindly, its arms thrashing, metal joints screaming as it swung in wide, feral arcs.

Then it hurled the ball straight at Robin.

“Down!”

Kovac grabbed her by the collar and yanked her to the ground. The projectile tore over their heads, shattering the pile of pews in an explosion of splinters.

“It can’t see me anymore!” Sasha yelled, darting down from the pulpit. “Run!”

The Suit lunged forward, homing in on the sound of her voice. Its fists smashed into the wood where she’d been standing only seconds before, tearing holes through the floorboards.

Kovac charged in from the side, barreling into its torso with his shoulder. “Move!” he barked, bracing against its inhuman strength.

For a moment, he held it—just long enough for Sasha to get clear. But then the Suit heaved him aside like he weighed nothing, sending him crashing into a shattered pew.

“Kovac!” Robin shouted.

The Suit reared back for another strike—its massive arm swinging straight for Sasha’s face.

And then it froze brushing against her eyebrows.

The Suit stood locked in place as though held by invisible chains.

The air changed.

A soft sound began to echo through the Church. A delicate, rhythmic clatter, like porcelain beads spilling onto hardwood.

Everyone turned.

At the far end of the sanctuary, the shadows thickened, pooling unnaturally as though the light itself was escaping.

From that darkness, a porcelain doll stepped into the light. Small at first, no larger than a child’s toy. But with each step, it moved fluidly, stretching and reshaping. Porcelain cracked and shifted with a sound like splintering ice until it stood tall, elegant, and unnervingly human—matching Sasha in height.

Dark hair spilled down its shoulders in ghostly waves, brushing the ground as it advanced with eerie grace. Its eyes were two glossy black buttons, catching the light with a glassy sheen. Though expressionless, they burned with intensity.

“So…” the woman’s voice was soft, as smooth as silk. “...You figured it out, didn’t you?”

She stepped forward, trembling, unable to look away from the figure.

“Yes, I…” she whispered.

The woman smiled. “You truly are clever, my daughter.”

Sasha’s breath hitched. “Mother?”

Gasps rippled through the room.

“Mother?” Tania whispered to Anya. “She said…mother, right?”

“No,” Michael muttered, more to himself than anyone. But the resemblance was undeniable now—the jawline, the eyes. She looked like the doll version of Sasha

The woman glided forward, each step silent but heavy, like gravity itself was bending to her presence. Her long black hair whispered across the floor as if alive.

The Suit behind Sasha remained frozen for a beat, then turned as if sensing her. Slowly, impossibly, porcelain shards lifted from the ground, spinning like tiny meteors around its neck. One by one, they fused together, re-forming its obliterated head with smooth precision. The sound was like bones knitting in reverse.

When the process was complete, the Suit stood straighter and bowed its new head to her.

Sasha didn’t move; her heart thudded painfully.

Michael and Jasmine had gone to help Kovac stand up. Tania and Anya, stood by their mother’s side while Mathers and Clara stared in pale disbelief from the pulpit.

“Lord have mercy,” Robin breathed, finally seeing the woman’s face clearly. “That’s… impossible.”

The doll. Sasha’s Mother. The Witch.

The Unholy trinity.

“Do you like them?” the witch asked softly, stroking the Suit’s reconstructed head as though it were a cherished pet. Her button-eyes never left Sasha. “I made them for you, dear. They obey me unconditionally. They’re loyal. Silent. Perfect in every way.”

Her gaze flickered towards Robin, then to Mathers and Clara, lingering just long enough to make their skin crawl.

“They would never harm you, my precious daughter.”

“Then why all of this?” Sasha’s voice cracked as she gestured at the bloodied floor and the broken pews. “Why destroy the church? Why are you attacking the town?”

The witch’s expression darkened, her grin curling like a knife. “Why? Is that a serious question?” She stepped closer, the Suit mirroring her movement like a shadow. “Let me ask you. Why not? They did it to me. I’m simply… replying in kind. I believe I showed you all of this or don’t you remember?”

Sasha asked, stepping forward. “So, the visions came from you?”

Behind her, Michael stepped closer, voice low. “Sasha, don’t…”

“Stay back!” she snapped, louder than she meant to. She could feel the witch’s gaze like a hand pressed against her chest, holding her in place.

Michael froze, jaw tight. He looked to Clara, who was shaking so hard she could barely stand. He had never seen his mother so scared. Who was this?— he wanted to ask but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Her mother?” Tania hissed. “But you said she was dead…”

“That’s what we thought,” Robin cut in, shotgun trembling in her grip. “It seems we were wrong.”

“It was you in my head?” Sasha asked.

“Of course, I had to educate my own child,” the Witch purred, gliding closer. “Teach you the truths they tried so desperately to keep buried, along with what’s left of this miserable place. And now that you know, there’s only one thing left to do….join me, daughter. Together, we will cleanse this town.”

Sasha’s breath faltered, her knees weakened. The weight of all the secrets, every lie rushing in her mind. Here she was, the mother she had been dreaming of meeting before she found out the truth. She could feel the others’ eyes on her, but her thoughts slipped, just for a second, toward the witch’s words.

Michael stepped forward again. “Sasha….don’t listen to her!”

The Witch’s head turned slowly toward him, her eyes flashed like shards of glass.

“You speak again, boy,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll turn your heart inside out before you can blink.”

Michael froze, sweat beading at his temple.

Robin raised her shotgun, voice low and cold. “Try it.”

The Witch tilted her head, locking eyes with her. “Ah, Robin… how lovely to see you again.” Her voice carried a mocking tone now. “And the others…..Clara, Mathers…even Kovac. All the guilty parties gathered in one place. How delightful.”

Her eyes shifted, landing on Tania and Anya. “Are those your little ones?” She gestured lazily toward the girls. “They do resemble you, Robin. Forgive me if I’m mistaken. It has been a while since I last saw you. You know… ever since you burned me alive.”

Robin didn’t lower the shotgun. “Yeah,” she said, voice tight. “We should’ve burned you hotter.”

The Witch’s laugh was quiet but jagged, each note scraping across the sanctuary walls. “Oh, you’ve never understood, have you?” she said. “Death cannot touch me. But enough of the pleasantries.”

She turned back to Sasha, gliding closer until her cold, porcelain hand hovered inches from her face.

“I’ll make this easy for you, my child,” she murmured. “One life. Choose one person, and I will spare them. It can even be this boy who won’t shut up.” Her buttoned eyes turned briefly toward Michael, and her smile widened. “I can tell he matters to you. The two of you could begin anew elsewhere. This is my gift to you.”

“That’s bullshit!” Tania stepped forward, trembling but defiant. “You don’t care about Sasha. You just want revenge!”

The Witch’s eyes shifted to Tania, and for the first time, her smile faltered. “Such fire. You must be Robin’s daughter. Well, unlike your mother, I can see you’ve been a good friend to my daughter. For that, I am grateful… but it does not change what must be done.”

At that moment, shadows along the walls thickened, the Suits pulling themselves through the walls one by one. Three…four…five of them now. The air seemed to hum with their presence, the same frequency as Sasha’s pounding heart.

“Choose, daughter,” the Witch whispered. “Or I’ll choose for you.”